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Page 133
of the shadow and began a steady loping run toward the oncoming horsemen. The nightjar whistled again.
"Stop," the huntsman urged.
Ian ground his teeth and tried to pray.
"They have not passed this way," a coarse voice muttered when the running shadow reached them. "Either they are farther in the wood or they have stopped. Go south of the moon for a little. Horn is in the wood."
Stopped. If they had stoppedIan took a grip on that thought, strangled it, and buried it. He turned his head to give further instructions to Jamie the Scot about what was to be done when they came upon the group they hunted. Alinor's men pressed close behind him.
"Quiet!" Ian snapped. Their angry muttering set his own rage boiling under the tight lid he had on it.
They moved forward again, slowly now, because the trees blocked the moon except for intermittent brighter patches, and there was the constant danger of being swept from the saddle by low-hanging branches. The coarse-voiced huntsman also rode pillion, from time to time emitting the nightjar whistle. The shrill sound was doing Ian no good. Each time, something inside him shivered. At last, the birdcall woke a response other than birds; the whistle was followed almost at once by a weasel's shriek. Ian jumped, but the huntsman uttered a grunt of satisfaction and bade them stop again. Horn came slipping through the trees, nodding recognition as the nightjar whistled still again. He did not speak but, as soon as he was sure they had good sight of him, beckoned them to follow and ran south.
Ian moved his shield to his arm and unhooked the morningstar from his saddle. Owain stared at his master. He had never seen him use that weapon before and had had lectures, when he was being taught to use it himself, about the impropriety of using it except in emergencies. He could only presume they

 
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